


Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down

by StarvingForAttention



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Introspection, POV Second Person, Pyromania
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28090476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarvingForAttention/pseuds/StarvingForAttention
Summary: It's not every night that you remember you are a phoenix.It's only most of them.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down

It's cold and dark and the night is screaming at you that you're going to lose everything you hold dear.

It's funny. You used to think that if you could understand the howls and whispers of things that went bump in the night, you might learn to understand the darkness. Comfort it. Maybe even become friends with it.

She mocks you now. Just as she mocked you in the past.

She doesn't actually cut you with her words. Assuming that's what she's even trying to do. She may simply be reminding you of something you know to be perfectly true.

Because underneath all the surface level taunts, she whispers something else. She whispers that it's time.

And it is.

Of course you're going to lose everything you hold dear. You began your life with little enough and have lost everything but Bernie and your lighter. From crib, your existence has been a long stumbling journey through ash and shadows with no stars in sight. The only warmth and light were of your own making, and they only lasted for as long as you could fuel them without setting your own flesh on fire. You learned to place little value onto anything you couldn't reliably tuck into your pockets.

Then you lost your life. And then you lost your life. And then you...

Found enlightenment.

Yes, you are trapped. Yes, you are in constant danger. Yes, you have to watch yourself lose everything time and time again.

But no matter how you die, you always live once more. You can watch the world burn around you, choke on the smoke and feel your skin and flesh crackle and curdle off your bones, and then wake up in a fresh world full of hope.

The Constant has made you into a phoenix.

And what does a phoenix do when it is time to be reborn?

You're going to lose everything you hold dear. But you have the power to decide when it happens. You have the power to cast aside your aching bones and tattered rags and begin anew once more.

You are fire. You are flames. You are the glow of civilisation and nature's wrath alike.

You are...

You lurch out of your tent. The evening campfire has withered to little more than embers. You meander over without thinking and stoke the flames. They crackle and dance and you smile.

Everything beyond the encampment is gloom and fog. It's going to be winter soon, assuming the rain and the dampness ever let go.

You will make sure they will.

You find some kindling. You place it next to the tent. You find gunpowder. You pepper it around the camp.

You take out your lighter. You summon the flame.

A hand encased in a fingerless glove grabs your wrist and gently but inexorably pulls your arm back.

You turn to stare at Wilson. He looks like a ghost, even more so now that his eyes have sunken in with exhaustion. He looks frightened even when he tries to smile.

"Not here, Willow." And though his hand trembles, his voice is steady. Decisive. Adamant. "Not here."

Behind him, you see the rest of your group emerging from the fog, holding lanterns and rubbing sleep out of their eyes.

"It's time," you explain, trying to free your hand.

"Not here," Wilson repeats, softer now. He casts a helpless glance behind him. "We can figure something out tomorrow." Something breaks in his smile, like a dry twig snapping in half. "Please?"

And he is so pathetic, the eyes of the procession of ghosts behind him so pleading, that you let the flame of your lighter flicker away. You watch them breathe and smile and keep their shoulders hunched as they retreat. Wilson leads you back to your tent and wishes you a good night.

And back in your sleeping bag, hunched into a cocoon to shield yourself from the cold, you hear the night speak to you once more. _"I thought it was time."_

"It was," you whisper back. "But it's fine. There's always more time."

There is. All the time in the world. After all, you are the eternal phoenix. The guardian of flames. The ruler of ashes. The bestower of life.

You will simply grant your blessing the following night instead.


End file.
